


Rendezvous at Pine and 4th Street

by RileyC



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types, World's Finest - Fandom, superbat - Fandom
Genre: First Meetings, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-16 23:23:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2288411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RileyC/pseuds/RileyC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce had made plans to find the alien called Superman. But you know what they say about best laid plans...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rendezvous at Pine and 4th Street

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt for this, Superbat - Believe, came from cerberry on tumblr.

The corner of Pine and 4th, Bruce Wayne discovered, was a vacant lot on the outskirts of Metropolis.

The city’s pristine skyscrapers gleamed off in the distance, catching the rays of the sun as it set and dispersing it back in warm, golden shafts of light that had utterly dissipated before they reached this desolate patch of ground. This wasn’t even on a level with Suicide Slum, Bruce thought as he climbed out of the car. Conditions might be squalid, hope may have been in short supply, but there was at least a buzz of life and energy in Suicide Slum. Everything here was broken and discarded, sucked dry. Junked and rusted vehicles lurked in odd spots. A massive fire must have swept through here at some point, if the number of burnt out homes was anything to go by. The few houses that still stood were boarded up and windowless, the yards nothing more than dirt, gravel, and a few scraggly weeds that poked half-heartedly through cracked and broken pavement. This place _aspired_ to be Suicide Slum, Bruce concluded as he took up his post near a streetlamp.

The streetlamp surprised him when it sputtered to life. It buzzed, flickered, but cast enough light for him to check the text that had brought him here: _It’s in your interest to meet me at 7 p.m. tonight, alone, at Pine and 4th._ No, five hours hadn’t made it any less cryptic, he thought as a breeze stirred the air for a moment.

He couldn’t speculate; there were too many possibilities and zero data. All he could do was wait and be ready for anything and everything. He did take comfort in the approaching darkness. Whoever, whatever this was, Bruce held the advantage in the night.

Even so, because he was only human after all, loathe as he might be to admit it, he did give a minute start of surprise as footsteps crunched through the gravel, headed his way. He hadn’t heard another vehicle pull up and there really wasn’t anywhere for someone to hide in this forsaken corner of the world. He tried not to miss the night vision lenses of his cowl, tried not to second guess the wisdom of leaving the suit behind. At least he shut down the primitive instinct to call out and ask who was there.

He waited and assessed the darkness as his eyes adjusted. He perceived a shadow that was more mobile than the rest and tracked its progress across the empty lot until it reached the sidewalk and resolved into a relatively ordinary man. The word ‘harmless’ floated across his mind for an instant and was as quickly banished. The deadliest poisons could present themselves as the prettiest of flowers, after all, and Bruce wasn’t about to let down his guard.

He did reassess that description of ordinary as he got a better look at the other man. Taller than him and broader through the chest and shoulders; curly black hair, blue eyes not quite obscured by black-rimmed glasses, and remarkably chiseled features completed the picture. Bruce took note of all those details. They weren’t much as clues went but ordinary was definitely the wrong word for them.

The stranger was looking him over as well and Bruce formed the oddest impression that the other man was pleased to see him here. That might have made sense if this was a trap but, try as he might, Bruce couldn’t see one, and he didn’t pick up any sense of malevolent triumph from the other man. He filed that away for future examination as the other man finally spoke.

“I hear you’re looking for the alien, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce didn’t respond to that, he didn’t even blink. He did note the light tenor voice as likely originating in the Midwest. That would explain the healthy, wholesome, corn fed look of him, to say nothing of the plaid cotton shirt. The other…was unexpected. Two people know why Bruce has come to Metropolis, and there is no possibility that Alfred has been gossiping. “You heard that?”

“The other night, when I followed you.”

It was harder to mask his surprise this time. “When you followed me?” That’s impossible, indisputably so, yet Bruce reviews two nights ago when he had told Alfred his plans to make sure. No one had followed him; no one had observed or overheard anything. For one thing, that conversation had taken place in the Cave.

The stranger pushed at his glasses and stepped closer. Bruce held his ground. “I’ve been researching you, Mr. Wayne, and thought it was about time for a more direct approach.”

Bruce felt increasingly at a disadvantage here and didn’t like that sensation one little bit. Their roles needed to be reversed and he considered various scenarios to achieve that even as a new detail began to gnaw at him.

They had met somewhere before. The name and circumstances were right on the tip of his tongue but maddeningly elusive. He never forgot a face, though. Why couldn’t he place this one? “I know you,” he said, annoyed at the ghost of a question that wrapped its way around the words.

The other smiled and shook his head and Bruce found a fresh source of aggravation in that smile. It insinuated there was a secret here, a private, inside joke that would be absolutely hilarious if Bruce wasn’t the punch line.

“No, you’d remember that, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow in his best Alfred Pennyworth impression. He wished he was in possession of the effortless snark that went with it. “Your message said this meeting would be in my interest. I haven’t heard anything to support that.”

“It’s something I thought of the other night, when I watched you on patrol. I almost came forward when you were dealing with the Joker but it didn’t seem like the right time.”

And with those words, tossed off so naturally, as if they weren’t loaded with hand grenades, Bruce felt his world turn upside down in a way he hadn’t experienced in many years. Something didn’t add up—or, rather, it added up to something he wasn’t ready for. “You keep saying that, that you watched me.” 

An apologetic look came over the handsome face then. “I know it’s wrong to eavesdrop but I didn’t know how else to get a read on you. The stories in the news are kind of all over the place.” His smile turned rueful as he quoted a recent headline. “’The Batman: Friend or Foe?’ I can identify with that,” he added, the puppy eyes turning sad for a moment.

He could identify with that. He had eavesdropped on a conversation in the Cave. He’d heard Bruce— _Batman_ —was looking for the alien. Even as he rejected what that added up to—because it wasn’t supposed to happen this way; because he had made plans and begun to lay the groundwork—even as he dealt with the overturned applecart of his plans, Bruce sorted through images in his head. He mixed and matched and took away the glasses; he stripped him of the jacket and jeans and plaid and replaced them with a blue suit molded to his body and a majestic crimson cape… And even though he was convinced by then he still wasn’t quite prepared for an actual declaration.

“I’m Clark Kent, the alien.” He seemed almost embarrassed then, as if concerned he might be a letdown. “I thought we should meet,” he added and held out his hand.

Bruce looked at that hand. If this was true—and he only wavered in his belief because things like this just didn’t happen… But if they did, and if this was true, that hand could crush him, could pick him up and fling him through the air with enough force to crash into those glittering glass towers miles away.

Bruce looked at him, looked at him as if he was the one with x-ray vision, and found that he believed. He believed this was Superman but more than that he believed the nonsensical, intangible conviction that hit him out of nowhere and told him this man would never harm him, would never be a threat. He would be exactly the opposite. The two of them together—not even the sky would be the limit.

And maybe that was as crazy as dressing up like a giant bat. He couldn’t say. He only knew that believing in Clark Kent came to him just as naturally and felt like a truth he had always known.

He clasped the offered hand and wished some suitably pithy comment would come to him. This was a moment for the ages, after all.

Then Clark said, “Want to go for coffee?” and Bruce felt a smile tug at his lips. So maybe they won’t do pithy. Maybe new words will have to be invented for what they are. He was good with that.


End file.
